


Welcome (I've Come) Home, Brother

by Jackie_Boi (DontMindMeImJustAMeme)



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood and Injury, Brotherly Bonding, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gaslighting, Gen, Graphic Description, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Manipulation, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, TommyInnit Has PTSD (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Needs a Break (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Traumatized Tommyinnit (Video Blogging RPF), Unprofessional surgery, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, mentions of abuse, please im so starved of sbi content p l e a s e, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:08:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29216967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontMindMeImJustAMeme/pseuds/Jackie_Boi
Summary: Desperate, cold and alone, Tommy turns to the only person he can think of.
Relationships: TommyInnit & Technoblade
Comments: 33
Kudos: 656
Collections: Found family to make me feel something, mcyt favorites





	Welcome (I've Come) Home, Brother

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [the lights go out (my heart goes still)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28099206) by [curseworm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/curseworm/pseuds/curseworm). 



> TW: graphic depictions of injury and unprofessional surgery (begins at “Tommy looked awful.” and ends “He gently lifts Tommy from the ground” + “but right now he has to make sure Tommy doesn’t bleed out all over his bedsheets.” and ends “He quickly descends down the ladder”), suicidal ideation, mentions of abuse, manipulation and gaslighting
> 
> Also, this was heavily inspired by 'the lights go out (my heart goes still)' by curseworm! If you liked this and somehow haven't already read their fic, I suggest you do so. It's great <3

His foot was already numb. Tommy knew that was a bad sign, but right now his right foot was the least of his concerns. Not when he’s stranded out in the winter. 

With every breeze, it feels as though the wind has bitten a chunk out of his skin, the cold settling deep into his bones and seizing every muscle under ice. He couldn’t walk straight, not with the numb foot he’s hobbling on, threatening to fall over with every step he takes. Feet crunch against the snow. He peers down at his trembling hands and swallows. His fingertips are blue. That isn’t good. _Fuck_.

He needs to find Techno’s house. A place he knows exists, and is warm and open and has resources abound for him to actually recover, food to eat and water to drink. He coughs into his elbow, stomach churning and lungs screaming as he chokes out phlegm and God knows what. He’s so sick and tired and exhausted. He just wants to collapse in the middle of the snow. Just doze off for one second and not have to think about anything. But he doesn’t want to die like that. He’s so tired, and he wants this to be over, and maybe he wants to die but he just can’t. Not right now. He didn’t talk himself off a ledge, to not jump and instead search for Techno’s house only to just curl up and die in the most pitiful way possible. 

The way the wind whips against his exposed backside makes him bite back a whimper, hissing in pain as the burns continue to throb, the extreme cold only making their existence more known. His clothes are singed and stained with soot and dirt, hands covered in dried blood, cuts and blisters, just like his feet are too. Just moving his leg was painful, because the cold was relentless and caused every muscle to contract and shake, the pain in his wounded feet, the burns being stretched with every movement near his hips and waist. Walking was awful, and his shoulders ached with heavy burden, one hand gripping onto the strap attached to his small, leather bag and the other hugging over himself to keep warm. He isn’t doing a very good job though. His hair used to be wet, having crashed into the water to partially save himself after deciding to live, but now it’s somewhat frozen, his scalp so cold he could get a fucking brain freeze from it. But like, an _actual_ brain freeze, not the kind from drinking something too cold too fast. Holy shit, can that happen? 

_No, no, don’t think about that_. It was hard not to keep the idea out of his head though, because he was so fucking cold that he couldn’t feel his extremities and that was starting to really worry him now, and yet he couldn’t do a single thing about because his clothes were torn and his right shoe is gone and any other article of clothing he’d manage to stitch together using animal hide has been burnt to ash by Dream. He was going to die cold and alone, and it was his own fault. Because he couldn’t just do what Dream said, couldn’t do what Tubbo said. Couldn’t have been a decent friend to them both. And now look at him. Tubbo doesn’t care anymore, and now he was starting to think Wilbur was right when he was alive. That Tubbo was lying. That Tubbo would drop him like a stone the second he became useless, a nuisance. And that’s exactly what happened, huh? Wilbur was right- _Dream_ was right. He shouldn’t have done that. And now he’s left alone to wallow in regret, isolation and snow. 

He takes the red, worn neck scarf he always has with him, now tied around his wrist to act as a bandage for a particularly nasty cut he received from an undead archer, and brings it close to his chest, close to his compass. He’d taken it and tied a piece of string to it, wrapping it and loosely tying it around his neck so that he’d never lose it. _Your Tubbo_. He doesn’t know why he keeps it though. It sits heavily around his neck, cool against his already freezing skin, and yet he keeps it. Even when Tubbo burned his. _Why do I still care when he doesn’t? This isn’t- this isn’t fair_. But he can’t keep his eyes off the needle that points directly behind him, dull red in colour. _This is so fucked and stupid and just so unfair_.

A light breaks through behind the mountain cliff, and Tommy sucks in a lungful of cold air. Is that Techno’s house? Hope bubbles in his chest and threatens to spill out, but he keeps his balance as he hobbles closer towards the light source, walking just a little bit faster with newfound desperation and hope. That’s got to be it- he’s got to be close. He’s been walking for so long, he can’t last any longer, this- this has to be his house or he’ll freeze to death out here. God, it wasn’t even snowing. But it was night and it was already pushing Tommy past his breaking point, so cold and alone and hungry. Tired, and wanting to just sleep, to rest and not wake up for the next ten weeks. That would be nice because then he wouldn’t have to think about anything, wouldn’t have to think about L’manburg or Wilbur or Dream or Tubbo. Just blissful darkness. 

_Find Techno’s house first, then pass the fuck out_ , Tommy rationalises in his head, thinking that’s a pretty solid plan for someone who has never thought twice about anything he’s ever done before actually doing it. That’s why he’s here in exile, after all. He stumbles over a rock that almost causes him to crash in the ground, but catches himself using his left foot that isn’t completely numb yet, feeling his ribcage scream in pain most likely due to his fall in the water. It saved his life, and he thought to break the surface with his bag, but that didn’t prevent him from breaking a few ribs and tearing cartilage. Not dead though, and he holds that fact close to his still-beating heart. Barely alive, but not dead, and if he’s not dead then he’s not too far gone. 

He makes it around the cliff-face corner to find a small wooden and stone hut built on the flat ground at the base of the mountain, an oil lantern hanging high from a post sitting next to the staircase leading to the front door. Tommy could almost sob with relief. He begins to sprint as fast as he can, which isn’t very fast considering how starved he is and his frostbitten foot, but making the effort nonetheless out of the sheer need and impulse to survive, to want to see the sunrise another day, even if he doesn’t really know what for yet. But that doesn’t matter in that very moment, as before him was hope in the form of his brother’s house that could provide food and warmth and shelter, everything he needs as of right now. 

But then he stops as a skeletal form before him registers in his vision, aiming its longbow and pulling back the drawstring. An arrow slices through the frozen air, Tommy half-jumping sideways to narrowly miss the arrow that cuts through his cheek. Oh shit, oh fuck, he did not account for having company he realises as hot blood trickles down the side of his jaw. He unsheathed his pathetic stone sword, not bothering to take proper stance and swinging blindly at the stray. The creature tries to fall back but is unable to in time, being sliced in half at the base of its spine, letting go of the taught string and another arrow striking Tommy directly in the shoulder. 

He screams in pain, clutching the wounded shoulder and toppling over, landing on his bruised knees. It hurts. Everything just fucking hurts like his shoulder and his back and his feet all the way up to his thighs. Every muscle burning under the stress of living. He tries to stand, but the moment he has lifted his knees from the ground he falls again, another jolt of pain sent through his entire body. He can’t get up. He’s too weak, and every time he tries he just falls and becomes just more exhausted, less able to stand with his lack of energy. 

No, no, no, no- this isn’t over. It can’t be over. Not after all of this, not when he’s so close, just literal metres away from shelter. Just get up, both hands braced on the ground and push, but pushing does nothing without any force behind it, his body too frail to even do something as simple as that. _No, I don’t want it to be over, I-_ He glances over at Techno’s house, so painfully close to him. _I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die!_

He didn’t even realise the crunching of snow until it was five feet away, and Tommy was afraid that it was another stray and held onto his sword on impulse, but with a nasally sigh and finding hooves in the snow he blinks, completely confused. He gazes up and is met with hot, wrenched smelling air and staring down the muzzle of a horse. He just stares at the horse, clad in armour with a saddle on they’re back, and after thinking for a whole ten seconds, Tommy realises this must be Techno’s horse; Carl. _Wait, what’s he doing here? And how’d he get out?_ But then Carl nudges Tommy’s side which elicits a hiss of pain - there was a particularly nasty bruise there - and kneels down on all four knees. _What the fuck?_

Carl gives him an annoyed sigh and Tommy swallows, muttering a small ‘sorry’ under his breath before really figuring out what the horse means. Is. Is Carl asking Tommy to get on his back? Tommy hesitantly reaches out and takes hold of the strap connected to the saddle, hoisting himself up now with the leverage and somehow manages to crawl onto Carl’s back. Mounted, Carl stands and begins to slowly tread towards Techno’s house, moving purposefully careful as to not accidentally buck Tommy off given his current state. It feels like a fever dream. The only comprehensible thought in Tommy’s mind is _I’m actually fucking dead. There is no way. I’m dead and this is me hallucinating before I pass onto the afterlife_. 

They reach the bottom of the staircase, Carl lowering down once more to allow Tommy easy access to the ground. He clumsily finds his way on his feet, no longer walking in snow but rather standing on wood and grateful for it. He awkwardly places his hand on the base of Carl’s head and pets him, offering him a thank you before he departs back into his small but cosy stable. Supporting himself on the wall, he makes his way up the stairs and into Techno’s house, slightly miffed that the door was left unlocked. That… didn’t seem good. For Techno, that is. For Tommy, it was the luckiest thing in the world. And he didn’t really think twice about it as he entered his house, the inside uncomfortably hot compared to the outside. But warmth was warmth, and he considered that it was a good thing, that his body was just adjusting, and made his way over to the countless chests stacked along the walls. They were, however, guarded by strange undead creatures locked up by chains, and upon seeing them Tommy almost screamed. _Techno, and I mean this in the nicest way possible, what the actual fuck_. He carefully makes it through the chained up hoard of zombies and makes his way to the chests. He opens one and his mouth drops. 

Holy shit. Techno is fucking _loaded_.

Enchanted apples, a tray of labelled potions and dried rations. Minerals like sheets of iron and- holy shit, gold and diamonds? He takes a potion from the potion rack labelled ‘strength’ and chugs the entire thing in one go, wiping away at his mouth and setting the now empty bottle back in its place. The effect is immediate. A warmth rushes into his chest and face, and the fatigue that had set into his muscle evaporated, dulling the pain of all his wounds to the point of just being a small whisper behind white noise. He takes the dried rations - beef jerky - and stuffs the sealed bag of it into his backpack with the rest of his belongings. He reaches into another, the chest with the enchanted apples and taking one out to snag for himself and admiring its golden sheen and he suddenly almost drops it, thinking.

_Dream wouldn’t want me to steal_ , he says to himself in a moment of clarity. _He wouldn’t like it. If he found out you stole from Techno Blade, fuck- who knows what he’ll do_. With a trembling hand, he placed the apple back in its chest with the others inside the crate that had the potion rack lined beside it, sitting back and pushing a hand through his blonde locks. _I’m not allowed to be here, Dream said so. No one can visit me_. Dream had made that point _very_ clear, but… It wasn’t like Techno was visiting him, no? No, of course not. He wasn’t planning on seeing Techno anyway - that fucker mocked him during his first week of exile. If Techno saw him in his house anyway, he’d kill him. 

Oh shit. If Techno saw him in his house he’d kill him. 

Right. That was an issue he had to take care of somehow, but that's for when the time comes, for now, he has to worry about keeping himself alive, then Techno later. Dream won’t find out, because he’s hiding from him forever. He’s never going back, not going back to Dream no matter how wrong it feels in his chest. He settles for what he has gathered in his backpack; rations, a tool kit, and a flask of water. He finds a ladder that goes a floor under, slowly but eventually making it to the ground. Another irrelevant room. Tommy searches around for anything that may be of use when he stands on a floorboard that gives a soft ' _creeeeeeak'_. Glancing down, he notices that it’s loose with a subtle draft upwards when he raises his hands over the cracks. _Huh_. He peels back the wood which reveals a deep hole in the floor, and Tommy gets an idea. He peels back more wood until the hole is the size of his body which isn’t really that big, and lights a small match to drop inside. It falls onto the stone floor and quickly extinguishes, but stays illuminated just enough for Tommy to gauge how deep the hole was. And it wasn’t too deep, just the right size for Tommy to be able to squeeze himself inside and live there. He’d have to stay quiet if Techno came home, and yes, he wasn’t very good at that in the past, but he bitterly thanks Dream for teaching him how to not run his mouth like always. He drops his bag first knowing that there’s nothing delicate that would break before sliding down into the hole with a painful ‘ _oof_ ’. It’s dark, cold and clammy and just what Tommy needs to in order to hold out until he’s regained his strength. 

He sinks down onto the cold, dank ground, being slightly mithered at how uncomfortable it was without a sleeping bag, but his body way too exhausted to care. The moment he closes his eyes his body goes slack as he slips into a warm darkness. 

  
  


☺☻☺☻☺☻☺

  
  


Techno readjusts the bloodied pickaxe hoisted over his shoulder, not caring for the blood trail it leaves behind in the snow. Honestly, if somebody follows him home using the trial of Quackity’s blood, he’s going to be seriously pissed. He’s in retirement, or well, supposed to be, and sworn off violence no matter how bad the voices got, and yet they hunted him down. And for what? All they did was waste his precious time and resources. 

He’s already made his way through the frozen tundra, his house in clear line of sight and finding Carl outside of his stable and pacing. _What the hell_? Maybe he was just still processing everything that happened with the Butcher Gang - that was one hell of a night that he wasn’t going to forget. But something seems… off. Carl knew he would be okay. Techno Blade never dies. But the horse seems frantic about something, or no, not frantic but concerned. A gentle kind of worry held in his posture. Quickly jogging over to the horse, he turns to face him and nuzzles his hand. 

“Woah, steady boy, “ Techno says with a soft smile. “Told you I’d be alright.”

Carl huffs at him in annoyance, a bratty kind which stirs a chuckle from Techno. “What? I was right, wasn’t I?” He strokes Carl's head before leading him back into the stable by the saddle cord and looks back at him one last time. Yeah, something was definitely off. Carl was tense and more agitated than usual. Had- no, no fucking way- had someone trespassed onto his property? 

_Give me a fucking break_. Well, he already dealt with one annoyance, he supposes he’s game for round two. He tightens his grip on his pickaxe as he makes his way up the stairs and into his house. Edward was there as usual, and he was glad that no one attacked the enderman. Nothing seemed wrong, not yet, so Techno descended down the ladder and into his storage room. There, he found his chests left open which he definitely did not do. He never leaves his chests open. What is he, an animal? Only people asking to be robbed leave their things unattended to. He peers inside and finds all of his belongings completely out of order, things strewn about and left haphazardly. He finds an empty potion bottle, one labelled ‘strength’ as well as noticing the small spaces which were once occupied by emergency rations and other materials. None of his luxury items was stolen, however. _What a strange guy. Can’t even steal right_. 

He descends another floor, eyes scanning for any missing items yet finding nothing gone. Okay, that was good, but was the thief gone or are they still here? The pillaging did look recent after all, so either he could track down the thief with the trail he left behind, or he was still in his very building. But even Carl knew that there was something wrong, so he must have known about the trespasser, so why would Carl just let them wander inside? Carl was intelligent, he wouldn’t have allowed that to happen unless he was threatened in some way? Like what happened with the Butcher Gang when Quackity had threatened him. But that doesn’t seem right. Carl was concerned but not because he was in danger, but because someone else was in danger. He could see it in his eyes. 

How could the thief be in danger? Well, he knows how the thief is in danger _now_ \- he stole from fucking Techno Blade - but before then, in danger of what? Why run all the way out here and only take his food rations and leave all the luxury behind? 

His eyes land on the corner of the floor to where he had to nail down wooden boards to cover up the small sinkhole under his house. He had wanted to fill it but then immediately got lazy and decided to just block it off. But the wood looks off. The nails are loose from what he can gather, and when he reaches down to pick at them, the board comes right off. Interesting. That wasn’t like that before. And that certainly wouldn’t happen over the span of one night. 

He plucks off the rest of the floorboards and peaks inside of the hole, squinting hard and finding something on the ground there. It was far too dark to make out any detail or colour, but the silhouette of something that he can’t yet identify wasn’t there before. He plucks the oil lantern off his desk, lights it, and returns back to the hole and lowers the lantern to gage a better look with the light and almost drops the lantern in shock. Holy fuck, that’s a human, but not only a human but-

“Tommy?” He says, his voice just a little bit above inside voice level but not wanting to shout. “Tommy, Tommy! What the fuck are you doing here?” 

No response. Shit. He places his lantern on the floor beside him and jumps down the hole with grace, careful not to accidentally trample over Tommy even though he kind of wants to for trespassing on his property. He’s immediately met with the wrench of bile and sweat and has to fight everything in himself to not dry heave from the horrid smell. He manages to reach his oil lantern to illuminate his surroundings better, placing it on the ground now besides Tommy and rolling the boy over on his back. 

Tommy looked _awful_. His cheeks were hollowed out, eyes sunken with deep bruises underneath them and breath dangerously shallow. His skin was sickly pale, fingers and lips turning a worrying shade of blue presumably from how cold it is in here. His hair was unkempt and grown out, his bangs falling into his eyes and the rest of his hair tied back into a messy ponytail. His clothes were in tatters and stained with soot which leaves Techno with so many questions with not enough answers and holy fuck he’s got severe burns and bruises on his back, as well as a bleeding shoulder from what looks to be an arrow wound. Not to mention that he was practically lying in a puddle of his own sick and cringing when he felt the damp fabric. _Fucking disgusting_. 

He gently lifts Tommy from the ground and manages to lift him out of the hole, more worried than grateful at how light Tommy had become and manages to lift himself out then proceeding to continue further, carrying Tommy as gingerly as he can to not worsen his wounds. He lifts the boy over his shoulder and fights back a wince at hearing the other groan in pain at the action. After some time, he manages to carry Tommy to his bedroom and places him on his bed, going to his bedside drawer and taking out a pair of scissors. He needs to patch up Tommy’s wounds, and the young boy was going to be absolutely livid that Techno had to cut off his clothes to reach his wounds but Techno honestly couldn't give two fucks about that right now. Filling a basin with water and putting on new, clean gloves, he cuts open his classic white with red sleeves shirt and carefully pulls away the fabric and discards the shirt on the floor. _Bleeding first_ , he tells himself, his attention swiftly on the wounded shoulder. After closer examination, it seems that his suspicions were correct; he was indeed shot with an arrow. Most likely by a stray. Many wandered aimlessly through this frozen tundra. At least Tommy had the brains not to try and remove the arrowhead himself, but he’s worried that by this time the tissue is already infected. Tommy already looks so sick and pale and that’s probably the truth, but right now he has to make sure Tommy doesn’t bleed out all over his bedsheets. 

He doesn’t have anything to pry open the wound so Techno settled for his fingers as he opens it and, using metal tongs, gently removes the arrowhead. He takes white linen cloth and dips it in water, cleaning away the blood and dirt around the area before taking his honey and herbal solution to disinfect the wound. He examines the blood loss and general area that the arrow had struck him, sighing in relief in finding out no major artery or vein was struck. Taking a needle and thread, he sows the wound shut, the entire time thankful that Tommy was unconscious enough to not feel it, though that is worrying him by the second now. He should have woken up by now, why hasn’t he woken up? He takes another linen cloth, dips it in water and wipes the sweat away from his face and body and then rolls him over onto his side, careful as to not disturb any other wounds or stitches. He can’t do anything for the bruises, but he uses his cream to try and reduce the swelling on his back from the burns. After he’s sure he’s done all he can do, he wraps both his burns and shoulder in sterilised gauze. 

After he’s attended to all of Tommy’s major wounds, he scans the rest of his body for more injuries. The rest were just small things; cuts, bruises, and a sprained ankle. He was, however, worried for his exposed foot. His toes were white and inflamed, near blistering, the damage affecting the rather superficial layers of the skin but still being prone to worsening or infection. Okay, so maybe not all of his major wounds weren’t treated yet. He quickly descends down the ladder with his basin and refills it with freshwater, now hovering it over flames to warm the water. He soon returns and wonders how the fuck he’s supposed to submerge his foot in this water when he’s lying down like that and decides that if he can maybe get him into a somewhat sitting position for at least 20 minutes he can maybe work from there. He lifts Tommy so that he’s sitting upright and resting his head against the pillow that he placed in between him and the headboard and dips his foot in the warm water, moving it around for the treatment to be more effective. 

He rests his chin on his hand and blows loose strands of pink hair away from his face. This was going to be a long 20 minutes. 

  
  


☺☻☺☻☺☻☺

  
  


Tommy woke up fighting back a scream. He had a nightmare, his usual one that he could never seem to shake. It'd return over and over and over again with some small variation between them. It'd begin at different places, sometimes at Logstedshire, sometimes in Tnret, or even in the Nether outside of the portal that led to his exile. Sometimes he'd even be wearing different clothes and see different people like Tubbo and Ranboo and one time there was Sapnap, but it always ended the same. 

It ended with Dream killing him. Always by pushing him down into a hole and then throwing down lit dynamite. But this time the end was different, no longer Dream but Techno pushing him into that hole, Techno lighting the dynamite and killing him. He'd been so confused and scared because this was different and Dream wasn't there, there to protect him from Techno. It had been so fast and so frantic - Dream usually talked to him before he killed him. He'd either comfort or taunt him. But with Techno he had no such luxury, no monologue to sit through so he could prepare for the worst. And it was over, in an instant, no preparation or warning. With a brilliant flash, he shielded his face and woke up on a bed. 

He winced and put a hand to support his ribcage that burned with a hot and angry pain, Tommy fighting back the tears a furiously wiping at his eyes. He heard thumping like footsteps and his heart rate skyrocketed. _Where the fuck am I_? A bed, he doesn't have a bed in Dnret as he so affectionately called his little hole under Techno's house. Not to mention it was warm despite his shirt being gone (where the fuck did his shirt go?) and his shoulder and back had been wrapped in gauze. His other shoe had been taken off, and he realises that even his pants are different. They're new and while comfortable, he's not yet adjusted to the foreign fabric yet. There's a loud ' _BANG_ ' and an equally loud curse from a man with a deep and painfully familiar voice before said man appears from the floor under up to what Tommy sees is a ladder. Pink hair, tanned skin and pointed ears adorned with golden piercings. 

Techno Blade.

Tommy holds his breath as the two locked gazes.

For a second, a long, agonising second Tommy held stunned silence, just staring at his brother like a deer in the headlights. No. No, no, no, this was wrong. This is wrong. He shouldn’t be here- _Techno_ shouldn’t be here. Wait, fuck, where is he? Why is Techno here in Dnret? Wait, but he’s not in Dnret because he was lying in a bed and Dnret didn’t have a bed. What? Then- then where is he? He passed out underneath the floorboards, right? In his little hole where nobody could him, except that someone did find him. Techno found him, and now he was in danger. Fuck. Techno was going to try and kill him now, wasn’t he? Techno found him trespassing on his property and now he’s going to slaughter him right on the bed he lays. 

But instead, Techno settles for an awkward “Tommy…?”

The boy pales, head heavy and hands shaking like lead was pumping through his veins. He can’t fucking breathe. Holy shit, Tommy can’t fucking breathe for some reason and he felt like he was having a heart attack. Racing heart, pain in his chest- definitely a heart attack. No matter how tight he clenches the pearly sheets he can’t calm the shaking in his hands, can’t calm his breathing, can’t calm his mind. His knuckles are turning white, and his nails are starting to pierce through the skin of his palm, but Tommy barely registers the fact that he’s bleeding. Only Techno, _The Blade_ , is at the forefront of his mind. The man standing right in front of him. 

What is he doing? Why isn’t he moving? This is so fucking wrong, Tommy could almost hurl. He just feels so sick and scared and wishing Dream was here but at the same time thankful that he’s not, and just feeling so confused by his own train of thought as well as his brother just standing there. And when Techno takes a step forward Tommy flinches back _hard_ , making Techno cringe in a sympathetic sort of way. He just realised that Techno was saying things, that his mouth is moving but his voice sounds so far away. Like he’s on a completely different plane of existence. Sometimes Ghostbur sounded far away too, like the last pieces of him, the last pieces of _Wilbur_ were fading away. But this? No. Techno isn’t dead. Techno isn’t dead. Techno isn’t dead but he wants _Tommy_ dead.

Techno tries moving closer again, and this time Tommy tries to book it. He springs out of the bed but is immediately met with excruciating pain throughout his entire body as if backhanded by God Him-fucking-self. His throat collapses and any oxygen that he had left his lungs leaving him absolutely breathless. He’s drowning in his own terror that he can’t even register the look of panic on Techno’s face as he rushes in to try and catch him. Tommy falls into his arms, squirming and shouting profanities and a mantra of ‘ _let me go!_ ’ that has no real energy put into it. He’s too tired to try and break free from Techno’s grasp, too tired to even scream. He was fucked, fucked the moment he was exiled.

“ _We’re fucked - we were fucked the minute we were thrown out_.”

Tommy’s breath slams in his throat causing his eyes to sting, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. _Do not cry! Do not cry in front of Techno of all people, who would mock you, mock you for being a pussy, for being weak_.

He’s still talking, but his older brother sounds so far away. “Tommy… Okay?” Was all he could hear, and he still can’t wrap his head around what the fuck Techno wants from him other than to die. What was he saying? Was he berating him? Teasing him- no, _mocking_ him like always? He wants to cry. He wants to cry so desperately but his stubborn and guilty pride won’t let him. Never in front of Wilbur or Tubbo, and especially not in front of Techno. He vaguely remembers crying in front of Dream. It was only once, and it was during his beach party when no one showed up.

_“No one cares about me anymore.”_

_“That’s not true.”_

_“No one cares.”_

_“Tommy…”_

_It was the one thing they had to do for him, just one single fucking thing - show up to his party - and not a single person did. Not even Tubbo did, and Ghostbur had invited Tubbo to his face. And yet no one was there, not a single soul except Dream. Dream, the only person who seemed to actually fucking care about his existence, more so than his best friend. Yeah, some best friend Tubbo was. He exiled him, left him for dead, and he had the absolute fucking audacity to ghost his party after being directly invited. What was it? Was it because he wasn’t a part of their ‘great nation’ anymore? That he’s not a part of L’manburg anymore? Not the vice president anymore?_

_He had asked Dream for his enchanted pickaxe and the masked man gave it to him. He swiftly made his descent into the Nether and destroyed the pathway that connected his portal with the others, so angry that it made him sick in the stomach or that he could tear his outgrown hair directly from his scalp. And that’s when he found out, found out the truth about the other compass. About_ Your Tommy _._

_Tubbo fucking burned his._

_He found his way to the L’manburg portal, just staring at it until the purple aura became nothing but a condensed, unfocused blob of colour. That’s when the rage disappeared. The sadness disappeared. It all fizzled out and what remained was emptiness. Cold, despite being surrounded by fire and lava._

_He turned to Dream. “Please can I go home?”_

_“...Do you wanna see the Christmas tree for ten seconds?” Dream says instead of answering his question. Well, he kind of did, just not the answer that Tommy was hoping for. “You can’t stay, but you can look at it - I’ll let you.”_

_“Why can’t I stay?” Tommy asks, so desperate for Dream to just see that he’s changed, he’s learned his lesson and he won’t make the same mistakes again. He knows that he was selfish, and rude and reckless and impulsive, fuck- he knows now, he really does. He’s always known that about himself, but now he knows that he’s a bad person because of it. But he’s changed, really. He just… wants to make Dream proud. Wants to prove himself._

_Dream turns to face him directly. “It’s not like they want you anyway, Tommy.”_

_Tommy’s heart sinks._

_“What?”_

_“Tommy; nobody showed up to your party and everyone was invited, “ Dream explains, his voiced lace with a hardened sympathy, sorry for him, but having to tell the truth straight. He pauses. “Do you want to see the Christmas tree?”_

_Tommy feels numb, and tears roll down his cheeks. “Let’s just go back.”_

He’s crying. Angry, sad and yet confused tears roll down his flushed cheeks as he remembers the way Dream hugged him after returning to Logstedshire, telling him that they could party together. And Tommy couldn’t fight the joy that tugged painfully at his heart in hearing that Dream wouldn’t abandon him despite being the one who kind of helped fuck him over. But Dream wasn’t such a bad guy. He was just doing what was necessary for everyone. Tommy was a hindrance after all. They- Tubbo made that point very clear. And yet, not really knowing why, Dream’s embrace felt like falling on ice. It was like his own heat was stolen from him and replaced with an unshakeable and unforgiving chill that carved itself into his bones and froze deep. He became a frozen statue in Dream’s arms.

He weakly punches Techno’s bicep, trying to pull back and away from him but not having enough force to. Even at full strength, Techno was a lot stronger than him, not that Tommy would ever admit that. But that fact is becoming painstakingly apparent in this moment and he just wants to cry and punch something and scream until his voice goes hoarse. His entire body goes slack, resting his chin against Techno’s chest. Resigned and defeated. He was going to die, like his choice to continue living didn’t even fucking matter. And God, it was all so hopeless and completely out of his control like always, because he was never in control in the first place. Wilbur, Eret, Schlatt, Dream, and fuck, even Tubbo. He lived his entire life attached to marionette strings and could never find the strength to sever them. 

A hand found his way to his shoulder and Tommy flinched back at the contact. He forces himself to meet Techno’s eyes, expecting to find anger and cruelty and not ready for the sheer concern held in his features. 

“Tommy. Tommy, I need you to listen to me, “ Techno says, gently squeezing his uninjured shoulder. “Focus on my voice. I want you to breathe in for 4 seconds, hold your breath for 4 seconds, exhale all the air, then repeat that, got it?” 

Tommy nods his head, for once unable to find his voice and not really knowing what’s happening to him and so fucking confused as to why Techno is helping him, but following his instructions so that he doesn’t anger his brother further. And he follows it to the tea, breathing in for 4, holding for 4, then exhaling all his breath only to repeat again. And it kind of works. His chest still hurts and his heart is still thundering against his ribcage, but he doesn’t feel like he’s going to puke any time soon and feels much less lightheaded and confused. Grounded, but still addressing the severity of the situation with the fear that Techno could snap his fragile neck like a twig if he really wanted to. And he does, he does want that. He wants Tommy to die. He fucking admitted it.

“ _You want to be a hero, Tommy? Then die like one_.”

And that was ironic because Theseus was thrown off a cliff like how Tommy almost jumped. But was that how the hero’s died? It sure didn’t feel like it. He felt like a failure. 

“Tommy, can you hear me?” Techno says in a lowered voice as if he raised his voice Tommy would break. Man, fuck this guy.

And still, Tommy nods, trying to stifle his pitiful sobs as he's brought back onto the bed, wiping away the tears in his eyes. He refuses to look at Techno. He doesn’t need to see the anger and hatred or the worry and the pity or whatever the fuck is going on. He just. Can’t take it. If he looks at Techno he’ll see his brother who heckled him for scraping his knee badly while patching up the wound with familial love. He doesn’t need Techno’s opinions. He doesn’t need his hate nor his pity. 

“You need to rest Tommy, “ Techno tells him. “You’re injured, malnourished and sick. Lie in the bed.” 

Tommy swallows the lump in his throat and obeys his brother’s commands then immediately hates himself for it. Why was he listening to that asshole anyway? Techno hated him, and he hates Techno back for what he did. For his betrayal. For killing Tubbo at the festival. For trying to undo everything that he and Wilbur worked for. What the fuck was his problem? It was their dream, to leave something much bigger than them behind, and yet his only reason for existence seems to be to tear that down. To tear down those walls that stood for the future, to spoil the seeds of their legacy and burn the roots of history just to leave ashes and anarchy in his wake. 

“Why are you helping me?” Tommy blurts out, finding his voice hoarse and throat sore. When Techno’s gaze snaps onto his, Tommy immediately recoils with a built-in fear that Techno was going to hurt him. He was acting out of line, he knows, but he can’t help it. He’s so confused and scared and his heart hasn’t settled down since he woke up here. But the look Techno gives him is puzzled and worried like he couldn’t comprehend why Tommy would ask such a thing, so the boy continues. “You wanted to kill me last time, when- “ _When L’manburg was destroyed at the hands of its creator, Wilbur_ “ ...So why are you helping me?” 

Techno gave Tommy a look he couldn’t quite decipher. It was grim and sad for him, but seemingly holding little pity. It was more like sympathy, maybe even bordering on compassion, but that doesn’t look right. Not on Techno. Not on Techno looking at him of all people. Maybe to Philza, but certainly not him. Never him. But now he’s just staring at his older brother, completely lost in the pain held in his red eyes, and wondering who he’s hurting for. 

“Tommy, “ he begins and sits on the foot of the bed Tommy lays. “I’ll be blunt with you; I fucked up. I fucked up _bad_.” He settles his gaze onto his lap and begins fiddling with the silk of his royal cape. “Back then, when Wilbur was still alive- “ and he inwardly winced when he said that “ -all I saw in L’manburg was corruption, and I still do believe that. When you and Wilbur hunted down Schlatt, all I could think was ‘It’s just gonna happen again. One tyrant will be replaced with another, and this whole ordeal, these wars, will just happen again.’ I had to do what I did, I had to stop L’manburg, but I suppose I was wrong about you.” He returns his look to Tommy and never once looks away as he continues. “Tommy, you’re reckless and selfish and rude and so fucking annoying, but… You’re not a tyrant. You’re not like Wilbur or Schlatt or Tubbo. You’re just as much a victim as I am.” 

Tommy sat there in silence. He clutched the bed sheets again, needing to physically ground himself to process all the information Techno just dumped him with. But L’manburg isn’t corrupt. But L’manburg betrayed him when he held no more power. But Tubbo isn’t a tyrant, and so wasn’t Wilbur. But Tubbo just discarded him like he meant nothing, and Wilbur detonated the bomb resting underneath L’manburg. But-

“Tommy.” And he snaps his gaze back at him when he realizes he had looked away. “Tommy, breathe. You’re okay.”

Okay? _Okay_? “How is any of this fucking _okay_ ?” Tommy snaps, not really thinking but far too past angry to care. No, no it wasn’t okay. It hasn’t been okay since Wilbur died. “Wilbur’s fucking _gone_ , my best friend _hates me_ and my own family wants me _dead_. How the fuck- _how the fuck is this okay_?”

“ _Tommy_ .” And for a moment Tommy thinks its Dream speaking to him and that it was the day of his beach party and his head is spinning and he's losing his breath again but then warm arms wrap around his body gently and pulls him into a hug. But this hug is so much different than Dream, and Techno’s voice was so much different. Stern, but held a fierce concern, not dripping with a honey-coated patronizing tone and a plastic kind of care. Techno’s embrace was warm, uncomfortably so after spending so much time with Dream and being embraced with his frozen hands and smile forever on that white mask. He could never see Dream's face, could never read him past the indifference of his voice like everything surrounding that man had to be a secret, but Techno was right in front of him, maskless and _there_ , so much different than Dream. 

“I know I do a piss poor job at expressing this, “ Techno says with a slight chuckle in his voice. “But I don’t want you dead. Phil doesn’t want you dead. We miss you, Tommy, even if you can be annoying. Everything is shitty now and I get that, believe me, I get that, but you’re going to be okay, I promise you that.” 

Tommy doesn’t know what comes over him, but he sobs. He sobs into Techno’s shoulder, relentless and powerful and ugly but he can’t stop crying, can’t stop mourning the death of their brother, mourning the loss of his best friend, mourning what L’manburg could have been. He’s being loud and he shouldn’t be doing this because Dream didn’t like it when he was loud, but he can’t bring himself to stop crying. In a sick way, Tommy wished Dream was here because he was always kind to him when he began to tear up, and would pause what he was doing to comfort him. Even if his touch drained the life out of his body. 

Tommy could feel Techno’s shoulder stiffen as he sobbed, as he brought his arms around his chest and pulled him close. For a moment he didn’t move, shocked to his core and a statue, except his touch wasn’t cold like one. His presence always brought hot embers as if his being radiated light, like a beam of sunlight. Yet, it wasn’t comforting like one, it struck fear in the hearts of men, burning them alive in the scorching heat, so maybe less a beam of sunlight and more a bolt of lightning. And waiting for a moment too long for it to not be awkward, he lifts his hand and places it on Tommy’s head mechanically, not really knowing what to do with the hand before settling for slow strokes. And it was nice because it was something Philza did when they were kids. 

Tommy’s sobs finally ebb, eyes dry and all sniffles to dry and desperately contain emotion. “‘M sorry, “ Tommy mumbles and hating how weak his hoarse voice sounded. God, his voice was wrecked. 

“No, no, it’s… It’s okay, Tommy, “ Techno says, pulling away from him with his hands firmly grasping Tommy’s biceps, an intense kind of look on his face. But it wasn’t anger, and it wasn’t kindness, leaving Tommy to fear what it could possibly be. Determination? No, that can’t be right, that isn’t right. But Tommy doesn’t want to ask him in fear of the response. Dream didn’t like it when Tommy questioned him, and the last thing he wanted to do was piss off his brother even further. He’s scared to look at Techno, look at The Blade, look at The Blood God, to look at his brother. He was so scared of him- why is he scared of him? No. No, he refuses to be scared of Techno even if he could beat him senseless right now. 

It felt so wrong when they had hugged. He hugged the person who murdered his best friend. But he’s not his best friend, not anymore, and maybe he never was. That thought hurt and he didn’t want it to be true, but most of the time despite all the hope, Dream was usually right. Tommy was so close to vomiting because of the severity of the situation, being so close to Techno, so close Techno could just end him right there. Techno was after all always armed, so he wouldn’t be surprised if seconds later he had a shank in his stomach. And fuck, Dream. If Dream found out. If Dream didn’t believe the suicide Tommy staged for him by leaving a fake goodbye letter and came down hunting him, Tommy wouldn’t have a chance. By all means, Dream is an intelligent man and is bound to found out that Tommy is alive, but the time he can possibly buy himself in making Dream believe that, believe that he’s dead and move on from him (which pained his heart when the thought struck his head because he so desperately wants to believe Dream cares about him) was precious. He could recover. He could make himself gear. Then he had maybe, just maybe the slimmest chance of outrunning the person who helped him the most. And Tommy internally laughs at that - if Dream hadn’t shown up daily then Tommy would be dead, more than anyone else really did for him - and lets himself sink into that sour feeling. It’s bitter and metallic and Tommy is drowning in it. 

“Tommy, can you hear me?” 

Tommy nods.

“I’m gonna get you some food ‘cause you’re looking more like a stray than a human, so stay here and get some rest, “ Techno says. 

And Tommy complies, even if he’s completely lost his appetite, more so over the past few weeks. He can’t stop shaking. 

It doesn’t take long for Techno to return with a glass of water and a bowl of steaming broth. He sets the bowl on the bedside table and hands the glass of water to Tommy. His fingers tingle as his skin makes contact with the cool and smooth texture of glass, a nice contrast to the burning that seeped through his entire body. The glass meets his lips, and in that moment Tommy realised how thirsty he was and began to chug the entire thing down. 

“Woah, woah-” Techno reaches out towards Tommy and grabs his wrist, and Tommy hates himself for the way he flinches back. “Take small sips, alright idiot? You’re gonna choke.” 

Tommy looks down at his hands. “Sorry.” He follows what Techno says, ignoring the confused but ultimately concerned expression he has. Setting down the glass, he’s handed the bowl and the thought of just trying to eat a single mouth full makes him gag. “Listen, Techno, I don’t think I’ll be able to finish that.” 

Techno shrugs. “I know. Just try to eat some of it, okay?” 

Tommy takes a sip of the broth and almost spits it out. The flavour was simple, chicken, and yet it was the most flavourful thing Tommy has ever eaten in months. Having eaten nothing but unseasoned dry meats and the occasional eggs if he was well behaved, the food was way too much for his taste buds that his body rejected it. He let the food sit in his mouth, fighting back a cringe because he didn’t want Techno to think that he hated it until the strange sensation like a violent shiver passed through his body and took another sip. Just a few spoonfuls of the broth had him feeling like he had eaten an entire horse in under five minutes. 

He shakes his head and balances the broth on his lap, arms tired from having to raise the bowl to his face. “I don’t think I can eat anymore.” 

“Oh come on, not even one more mouthful?” Techno asks with no real anger in his voice. Just gently pushing him, but Tommy wary nonetheless. 

He shakes his head ‘no’ again. “Sorry, I just- I just can’t. I’m really sorry.”

“You… Don’t have to apologise for that, “ Techno says while taking the bowl away from him. “I get it; you’re sick. We’ll try again tomorrow. But I’ll still keep giving you little things to nibble on throughout the day if you’re awake.” 

Tommy nods, not having the energy to speak unlike his old self and lies back down. His head sinks into the pillow, limbs melting into the mattress, and all Tommy wants to do is just collapse here and never wake up. That’d be so much easier, huh. But he can’t leave L’manberg behind. Techno’s wrong. It can be saved, he knows it can be saved. Techno, Wilbur, Dream, they’re all wrong about that one thing no matter how intelligent they were or how much Tommy trusted and idolised them. If L’manberg was gone then- then what’s the point in _this_? What’s the point of living on to continue Wilbur’s memory so that his touch on the land never fades. 

“You should go to sleep, Tommy, “ Techno says. And Tommy wants to argue because he still doesn’t trust that he won’t slit his throat while he slept, still awfully suspicious as to why he was helping him recover. He used so many of his resources on him, food and medical supplies, and for what reason? Why? Why keep him alive when he’s been nothing but a thorn in his brother’s side for such a long time now. Why not just end it here and never hear of his name again? But his body is indifferent and no amount of overthinking could stop Tommy from slipping back into slumber, Techno diligently watching over his little, gremlin brother. 

  
  


☺☻☺☻☺☻☺

  
  


Tommy doesn’t want to wake up at first. There’s sunlight peeking through the curtains, the sun offering its own good morning to him and basking him in its morning light. The heat hits his skin but in a warming and wholesome kind of way, something he forgot what it felt like and rubbed the sleep away from his eyes. He sat up with great effort and found a little bell attached to a note underneath it. It read:

_Tommy,_

_If you’re dying or something, just ring this bell. No matter how far away I am, I will always hear it. It’s enchanted._

_Techno._

_PS. If you constantly annoy me with this bell I will confiscate it. This is for emergencies only. Call out if you need anything else._

Tommy sets the paper aside and carefully lifts the bell so as to not ring it, curious about how the enchantment works. At first glance, it seems normal, but upon further inspection, he finds that the gold has a faint purple shimmer and seems to vibrate with magic in his palms, the energy pulsing through the veins down his wrists. He wants to ring it. He really, really wants to ring it for a laugh, to poke fun at techno, but Tommy has a lurking feeling that Techno will do much more than just confiscate it. If he rings this bell, he might never get it back, and what happens then when the time comes and he is in an emergency? He’s the boy who cried wolf and no one will be there to help him. He’d be completely incapable and defenceless, _useless_ , and not a single person will respond to his call. And it would be his fault. It would be his own fault, his own doing that would lead to his eventual demise. Because he was an idiot, being a brat like he always was, just a selfish kid who never learns. 

With a sigh, he puts the bell back on the table and gets to his feet with great effort. Something is wrong with his right foot because he can’t feel it and then remembers grimly how he had to walk hours in the snow barefoot. He takes a glance at his foot and finds it bright red, swollen and blistered but looking better than before. He notices a long walking stick resting at the foot of his bed and it clicks. Using the aid of the crutch he manages to make it across the room without collapsing which Tommy takes as a huge _W_ but then is immediately met with the thought of _how the fuck am I supposed to get down this ladder_? God, it was like everything Techno did was to spite him personally. 

But if there was something Tommy was good at, it was spiting life even more so than everyone else and forced his body down the ladder. He almost collapsed when he hit the floor, his bones basically nonexistent at this point and legs shaking from exertion. He should've stayed in bed and forgot the reason why he even came down here, but he supposes he should commit to the idea since he’s gotten this far. He finds Techno reading a book, carefully turning each delicate page and eyes glued to the black ink. 

Tommy clears his throat. “Um, good morning.” He feels so painfully awkward. 

“It’s the middle of the afternoon, Tommy, “ Techno replies, not sparing him a glance. 

“Oh.” He suddenly feels cold and hugs his free arm over his chest. “Uh- sorry.” 

Techno places the red ribbon attached to the book in between the pages and closes it, setting down on the armrest of his seat and finally looks at him. Only now can Tommy see that Techno feels as awkward as he does. “Do you… want something to eat?” 

Tommy shakes his head. “No, but I am pretty thirsty actually.” 

Techno hums in acknowledgement and gets up from where he was sitting. “You should sit and down and rest - you shouldn’t be walking on your foot yet.” 

“Shit, uh, sorry, I kinda just got a bit excited, y’know. It’s like havin’ a big sleepover, “ Tommy says with a shaking grin feeling a strange mixture of fear and happiness swell in his heart. It was hard to tell whether Techno was scolding him or just looking out for him. Things have been so confusing lately. He looks around and finds a regular wooden stool at what looks to be a small dining table and takes a seat there, resting his crutch against the edge of the table and waiting patiently, swinging his legs back and forth. 

A glass of cool water is handed to him, and this time he remembers to drink it in small sips as Techno takes a seat adjacent to him. 

Tommy stops drinking for a moment to stare at him. “What?” 

“Do you wanna tell me what happened during exile?” He questioned, and Tommy’s heart took a giant leap into his throat.

“No, not really, “ he replies, trying to guard the waver in his voice all the while trying to remember how old Tommy Innit spoke. It has been, after all, such a long time since he’s seen Techno, and as of right now Tommy isn't exactly comfortable with addressing the unspoken change between them. He isn’t comfortable, period. 

They sit in silence, the air invisibly thick. It was like running your fingers through tar, bound to get stuck as if the blackness was beckoning you towards it. To embrace it. It was scary and deafening, Tommy’s heart beating far too loud in his ears. He never liked the quiet. 

“Okay, you really need a bath, “ Techno says suddenly. “I can smell you from here.” 

Tommy scoffs. “Wow, how dare you, bitch. I smell great.” 

And Tommy can’t contain his smile because Techno himself smiles, even if barely, but Tommy saw the curvature on the corner of his mouth and it was like a weight was lifted from his shoulders. Techno was trying not to smile. He made Techno almost smile, and that was enough for Tommy’s heart rate to decelerate, concentrating on that single, small win above all crushing losses. It was barely anything, but it was the only thing Tommy needed right now because he was damn sure it was the only thing he could have. Could have to come somewhat close to being brothers again.

“God, Tommy, please stop being a gremlin for 5 minutes and at least wash your hair. You look like a drowned rat, “ Techno says. “I can help you if you need it.” 

“I don’t need help. I’m not a child and I can do things myself, “ Tommy immediately rebuttals back in his usual light-hearted sort of way, bracing himself against the table and trying to push himself up onto his feet. Keyword trying, because no matter how hard he tries, he can’t summon the strength to stand on his own. Climbing down that ladder really took a lot out of him. “Okay, uh, maybe I need just a little bit of help.”

Techno groans in a well-meaning frustration and helps Tommy hoist himself off the seat and balance him long enough for him to support his weight on the crutches again. Techno escorts him to the bathroom and gets him to stand in front of the mirror while he prepares to clean his hair. And this was the first time Tommy had seen himself, seen his reflection, in a very long time. Not a distorted perception of him inside the ocean waves and the cracked lens of his compass. That compass has never left its place around his neck, Tommy realises and holds onto it for dear life grateful as he stares back into himself. He feels so. Distant. Right there yet one million miles away from the present, not actually here, a phantom. He was a ghost haunting his own body. His cheeks were hollow and his eyes had deep bruises underneath them, and his eyes lost their usual boyish shine. There was something more broken there, something much more scarred than the child Tommy desperately tries to deny he’s not. He raises his hand to the mirror, feeling odd and numb but in a comforting way regardless of how fake he feels, how mechanical his movements seem to be. Perhaps he had spent too much time around Dream. 

Techno’s voice snapped him out of his trance and returned his attention back to his hair. Now looking at it in the mirror, Techno was sort of right. His hair was singed at the edges, curling up in an unnatural frizz yet greasy in huge clumps. His overgrown bangs were matted against his forehead, slick with sweat and mud and still had a lingering smell of acid from lying in the puddle of his own sick. Techno took a bucket of warm water and washed out the grime with a firm scrub, occasionally tugging at his hair and Tommy hissing in pain, trying to shove down the memory of whenever deciding to be unresponsive in exile, rebellious, Dream would take him by the hair and force him to look at his stark white mask. He’d pull so hard strands, and sometimes entire clumps were ripped straight from his scalp. _Jesus Christ me, can you curb your PTSD bullshit for one second_? But thankfully it’s over, and Techno is combing out Tommy’s hair gently. If Techno hadn’t literally tried to kill him in the past, then he probably would have found this soothing. 

“Your hair grew pretty long, “ Techno says, combing through the hair that made it almost to his shoulders and drying it out. Techno himself has insanely long hair - it was braided back and sometimes pulled into a bun, usually for whenever he had to prepare for battle - but this is the longest Tommy has ever grown his hair by a long shot, not that it was intentional. “Wait a second-,” Techno says while reaching into the drawer and taking out a small elastic. “I’m gonna tie your hair up so it’s out of your face.” 

Tommy wordlessly nodded and Techno combed a particular long clump of hair behind his ear and made a small braid of it before tying it back into a small ponytail with the best of his stray hair. It… wasn’t a bad look. His hair was still wet, so he had to wait to see what it really looked like dry, but this was… this was nice. It was domestic and homely and something that brothers might do for each other. 

Techno laughs and Tommy realises he’d been staring at the small braid and the ponytail and immediately flushed in embarrassment. He grumbled to himself and stood up, which was an incredibly huge mistake on his part because suddenly his head became light and black dots speckled his vision until complete darkness washed over him. Then he was on the floor, sick and confused and head throbbing, feeling awfully weak like he might throw up again. 

Someone is speaking to him and it has to be Techno because there’s no one else it could be. The person- Techno helps him against the linoleum wall and places a hand against his forehead. 

“You’re burning up again. I shouldn’t have let you come down here, “ Techno says. “Wait here and don’t do anything stupid. I’m just gonna get some water and honey, okay?” 

Techno was gone and then he wasn’t, and Tommy was almost certain right there and then that time was just another social construct and didn’t actually exist. How did moments just pass him by? How did one minute feel like one year? He doesn’t remember being this out of touch before the wars. He’s so confused - he doesn’t understand what’s happening and it’s scaring him. 

Techno first gives him the glass of water, tilting the glass to allow small sips for Tommy before setting it down. He takes a jar of honey and holds out a spoon full of it. 

“Techno, I really don’t think I can stomach anything right now, “ Tommy admits, stomach churning at the thought of any food going near his mouth in fear of puking it up. He didn’t want to make Techno angry.

“I know, Tommy, “ Techno begins. “But I need you to have this one spoon full. Just this one. Right now your body needs sugar, so that’s why I’m giving you this. You need energy. And when you recover from your sickness, hopefully, you can stomach something more substantial than broth and honey.” 

Tommy sighs but ultimately gives him a small, hesitant nod, Techno bringing the spoon to his mouth and Tommy, after a moment, eats the honey. He’d forgotten what sugar had tasted like, and he thought the broth was bad before. This was so much worse. His fingers curled as he tried to adjust to the overpowering sweetness of the honey, trying to let it dissolve in his mouth rather than swallowing because he was pretty sure if he tried, he’d choke on how viscus it was. His face scrunched up at the strange aftertaste, nothing like he’s ever experienced before. But after a few minutes of sitting and the occasional sip of water, colour began to return to Tommy’s skin and his sweating had partially stopped. 

“Here, let me help you to your room, “ Techno says as he offers a hand. Tommy takes it and his lifted off the ground and given his crutch, waddling his way out the bathroom and now at the base of the dreaded ladders, but this time with Techno to help him. 

“You should really make a fuckin’ staircase man. What if a person comes into your house and they didn’t have legs?” Tommy asks with a tinge of frustration in his voice, not actually at Techno, but more at how exhausted he felt after making it to the upper floor. 

Techno shrugs. “Oh well. L, I guess.” 

“Oh, you are a bitch, Techno. A sad, cruel bitch. Was your mum killed by a legless guy or something?” 

“Tommy. We’re brothers.” 

A pause. 

“Oh. Right.” 

Another pause, then laughter. Laughter from both of them, like the happiness bubbling in their chests had finally overflowed into a stream of happiness. Finding joy in each other's company. Finding each other, finding their brother. Finding family again, like how Phil had found them. 

“You’re such an idiot, Tommy, “ Techno managed through wheezes, and Tommy couldn’t help but smirk back. 

“Okay, listen bitch boy, I’m not the one who fuckin’ keeps zombie’s trapped in my basement for some fucked up reason.” 

Techno sighs. “‘Cause I’m gonna _cure_ them, Tommy.”

“Cure them? How the fuck?”

“Don’t ask questions, Tommy. Go to sleep.” 

Tommy returns back a well-meaning ‘fuck you’ and a few other curses before sinking into the softness of the mattress, letting his muscles melt into its heat and closing his eyes that very suddenly became heavy. One second lying down, and he already was almost asleep. 

“Just in case you missed it, this bell on the desk- “ he gestures to it still sitting there and faintly glowing “ -is enchanted so that if you ring it, I can hear it no matter how far away I actually am. Just. Don’t use it to annoy me, got it?” 

Tommy nods. “Thanks for the Prime Bell.” 

“...Are you seriously calling it that?” 

Tommy hums a yes, eyes closed and breath relaxing. 

And before Techno could retort with a witty response, Tommy falls deep into sleep, Techno stopping in his tracks and smiling down at his little brother. He looked so happy and content, a small smile plastered onto his otherwise relaxed face. Techno almost wishes he could give Tommy that, just like Wilbur was able to, a small, gentle smile on young Tommy’s face as Wilbur gently plucked the guitar strings. A look so not sad it was perfect. 

He wonders if Tommy was dreaming about Wilbur and his guitar. And judging from that smile, probably. 


End file.
